


Untitled (drunk Dean)

by winchestersinthedrift



Series: Het SPN Oneshots [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Vulnerable!Dean, drunk!Dean, this is pretty schmooey sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	Untitled (drunk Dean)

You’d gone to sleep early that night, stupid-tired from a day in the sun, had crashed at 9 and left the boys in the kitchen of the current squat-of-the-week, Sam on the laptop and Dean cleaning guns, both of them still drinking. When you woke up at 3 am and found the thin foam mat beside yours empty you got up and went back into the kitchen and found Dean still sitting against the wall, awake, mumbling under his breath, and you knelt in front of him and touched his shin and said ‘baby?’ 

He looked up at you beer-dazed and he was _drunk_ , you saw that right away, drunker than you’d ever seen him except for the one night after he and Sam had buried a friend. He shifted his knees apart and fumbled for you, pulled you in between his knees right up against his chest, and you knelt between his legs and took his face in your hands. He grabbed at you, a little clumsier than usual, and he smelled like not just beer but hard liquor too, maybe multiple kinds.

‘Dean!’ you hissed, not sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes, ‘what the fuck did you drink? Where’s Sam?’

‘’sss inna - in zeh - he went t’ bed,’ he slurred, with the grave earnestness of the very intoxicated. ‘You - listen Y/N you c’mere, c’mere an- lemme kiss you.’ He pulled you closer, hands going straight for your ass tonight, grabbing you through your thin cotton shorts and grinding you up against his jeans. He had pulled off his tshirt earlier - it was humid and hot even through the dead of night these days - and your lips touched his chest and his throat, tasted the dried salt on his jaw before he nuzzled impatiently and took your mouth with his. His kiss was wet and soft and relaxed, not aggressive but languid, open-mouthed, and you could taste rum on his tongue. He kept grunting and giving tiny moans, beginning to grind up against you, but when he pulled back a little you saw that his face was twisted and drawn, not just with want but with something else too.

‘Baby,’ you said, stilling his hips with a gentle pressure, ‘what is it?’ He looked a little to the side and down, quick and unfocused.

‘’s ok’,’ he said, face still sagging a little, ‘I just - I’m just -’ he broke off and gave a little shrug that hurt your heart. ‘Jus’ feelin’ shitty. I’m just - ‘m so tired.’

You put your hands up over his face, felt the days-old stubble over his cheeks and ran a thumb down over the tiny break in the straight line of his nose.

‘Wanna come to bed?’ you said, ‘come sleep, Deaner. Come sleep for awhile.’ 

It took him a minute to respond, head tipped back now against the wall so that the silhouette of his face, the lines of his nose and jaw, was drawn in dark curves of moonlight and shadow.

‘Nnno,’ he said finally, slurring a little over the word, ‘n’yet, Y/N, first - can we - I just - I wanna have you.’ Then he tipped forward so that his forehead was against your collarbone and you put your arms as far as you could around his shoulders and rubbed his back a little, trying to blink the tears from your eyes before you talked again. It was so strange to see Dean like this, unnerving, yes, but also affecting in a way that roused a visceral protectiveness in you that was almost overwhelming.

‘Yeah, baby, yeah, of course, but - come and lie down, ok?’ You got up off his thighs and took one of his hands in both of yours and heaved him up. He caught the edge of the counter and stood there a second, getting his legs, and then followed you to the foam mats on the carpeted side of the room. You’d seen the edge of the table and the empty Grand Marnier bottle and the two 24s of rum. You weren’t sure how much of that Sam had drank, but you were betting Dean had at least downed his half of the liquor cabinet spoils.

He collapsed on his back, one leg drawn up a little, and you dragged off his jeans and crawled up over him. You hadn’t been sure this would work at all, given how drunk he was, but there was a dark spot of precum on the front of his boxer briefs so that seemed hopeful. And honestly you’d do anything, seeing him like this, even if all it did was distract him for a little. Besides, you wanted it too; the scent of him, even under the smell of rum, and the feel of his skin against you had already stirred your blood (such a hackneyed phrase, and you always rolled your eyes at yourself for thinking it, but it always came to mind with a fierce relevance when your body was pressed against his). It felt like threads taut with arousal were being plucked between nipples and pussy and you shuddered, once but prolonged, as the length of your body pressed against him from above.

He was relaxed underneath you but awake, more alert than he’d seemed in the kitchen, not quite smiling but his face was softer, as if your presence was jarring him loose from the worst of the shadows around him. You snagged your panties and shorts with a thumb, maneuvred a bit to push them down and off your legs. When he saw it his eyes lit up and he sat up, fast, too fast, had to put his head down quick to keep from blacking out.

‘Jus- gimme a- minnit,’ he said, ‘gonna - fuck you so good, so so good baby.’

‘I know, hey. Hey, I know.’ You got him to lay back down and sat up straddling him, a smile playing over your lips at how fucking cute he was like this. And he was good to go, too; your hips were grinding against him a little, almost without you knowing it, and he was hard and twitching enough that you felt it even through his briefs. 

You raised yourself up on your knees and peeled his briefs down over his hips, tugged them just down over his thighs, spit into one of your hands and ran it over his cock. His eyes followed you the whole time, lips parted and eyes wide like they couldn’t drink you in enough and he was quiet, just _quiet_ , like he was watching through a sort of trembling haze. When you took his cock in your hand he jerked, hips and shoulders and the deep muscles of his stomach.

You sank down on him slowly, taking him a bit at a time. By the time you bottomed out and felt his tufty hair against your inner lips you were flushed enough that you felt it in your face and neck and were breathing ragged and shallow. He was still looking up at you, teeth pulling across his bottom lip and eyes glistening, and you leaned forward and kissed him on the lips and said against his mouth,

‘Look what you do to me, Deaner, just you being inside me.’

He moaned a little at that and gripped your hips in both his hands and you sat back up and pressed your hands against his pecs, thumbing across his nipples, and you rode him slow and soft and gentle till he came beneath you, not violently or hard but like a long shallow wash of pleasure lapping against his muscles. When he’d caught his breath he sat up again (no blacking out this time) so that you were straddling his lap and he kissed you for quite a long time, hands roaming over your body and his fingers playing at the back of your neck. When your breathing had quickened and roughened again he grabbed your ass hard with one hand and put the other down between you and rubbed two fingers up and down on either side of your clit, the way he’d learned you liked it, and you canted your hips hard against him and held your breath till you came, not like him this time, but hard and fast and sharp with his softening cock still inside you.

Afterwards you sat like that, both sated and half asleep, till you felt cum starting to trickle out between you.

‘Gotta get up, baby,’ you whispered, ‘stay awake for a minute though. I’ll bring you a really big drink of water.’


End file.
